The Moving Blade

by Michael Pronko

  “And you have dates?”

  “Quite a few.”

  Hiroshi wondered if he should offer them protection. “You should be careful until we get all this in place.”

  “I realize that. But Mattson went it alone. We’re a community. All the investigators on our site get online backups of everything at pre-arranged times. If something happens to one of us, all the others have a copy. If we had known about Mattson, we’d have kept him and the information safe.”

  “The public speech was what really threatened them.”

  “He was a dynamic speaker.” Iino hummed disappointment. “There’s going to be a funeral for Higa in two days.”

  “Email me the info.” Hiroshi hung up and started on the application for confiscating the Katsumura Transport Company’s records. Akiko put it onto the official forms. They worked for hours until they had a complete file on what they knew. The Katsumura Transport files would provide the rest.

  “The thought of all that radioactive contamination is horrifying.” Akiko straightened the forms.

  “There are a lot of American bases all over Japan,” Hiroshi said.

  “Poisoning the groundwater, draining into the ocean.”

  “It’s slow murder.”

  They looked at the thick stack of application papers.

  Akiko said, “You should mention an increased budget.”

  “What?”

  “The chief will go for this if he can get extra operations budget. And Takamatsu always had me put duplicates at the end to make the file look longer and heavier.”

  “So, the chief won’t read it?”

  Akiko giggled and printed out an extra copy of everything and added it at the bottom. “I’ll get started on Trey Gladius while you talk with the chief.”

  Hiroshi groaned as he set out to the chief’s office, aching with each step but knowing he needed to keep moving. As he walked the long tunnel, he was happier than ever to be in the annex building, in a quiet office, with a sane, competent assistant, and a functioning espresso maker. He would never leave the office again.

  The chief groaned when he saw the stack of papers for the raid on the Katsumura Transport Company’s records. “I don’t have time to read a report this long.” The chief shoved the stack back towards Hiroshi. Saito looked on from his chair at the side of the chief’s desk.

  “We need to think a little outside the box.” Hiroshi used the English for the last phrase.

  “What does that mean?” The chief looked insulted. “English phrases can mean anything.”

  “Katsumura Transport and Storage has been contaminating the country. They’re dragging radiation everywhere. It’s all in my report.” Hiroshi tapped the thick folder. “We need to confiscate their records—technical financial stuff, accounting procedures, delivery dockets. I’ll go through it all, don’t worry.”

  “We have to wait until this conference is over. Every one of us has to be there to protect all those foreign delegates. Already, there are protests outside the forum hall.”

  “I’ve been bringing you cases of financial fraud connected to homicide and they’ve all been airtight, right? Airtight.” Hiroshi repeated airtight in English.

  The chief mumbled a begrudging agreement. Saito, ensconced as usual in the chair by the chief’s desk, mumbled an echo.

  Hiroshi straightened up as straight as the ache would allow and continued, “We ask for expanded funding. The budget directors will get on board if the American embassy and the Ministries are satisfied.”

  The chief nodded approvingly. “A raid like this has to be carefully planned in advance—”

  “Saito, you’d be the perfect point man for the raid,” Hiroshi said. Saito sat up. “You’ve done this kind of raid of companies before.” Hiroshi knew this was the kind of safe action he liked.

  “Let’s do it combined with the tax office,” Saito suggested and the chief nodded. “A joint raid is safer.” Saito called on his phone as Hiroshi summarized the application.

  Saito hung up and said, “They’ve been after the Katsumura’s for years. They’ll bring a dozen officers. We bring the same. Best to do it early in the morning. Catch them off guard.”

  “Can we spare everyone from the conference?” the chief asked.

  “Conference doesn’t start until the next afternoon,” Saito said. “We do this tomorrow morning.”

  Hiroshi feigned being impressed.

  The chief pulled out the top form, put his hanko seal in the first box at the bottom of the page and handed it to Saito, who put his hanko into the next box. “Akiko will do the rest.” He pushed the file across the desk to Hiroshi.

  Hiroshi bowed on the way out and took the forms to Sakaguchi, who was talking on the landline on his desk. Sakaguchi dropped his hanko on the form without stopping his conversation.

  When Hiroshi walked back through the underground corridor his legs felt like hardening concrete. The rest just hurt. Maybe he should have taken the pain pills the clinic gave him, but the pain was keeping him awake—and focused.

  Hiroshi set the forms down in front of Akiko, who got started while he looked through the forms for placing Trey Gladius’ name on every suspect list in every country he could. He’d contact every police bureau in every country he’d collaborated with on cross-border crime cases. He’d send it to Interpol, too.

  Akiko filled the forms out in English, correctly and completely, and better than he would have done himself. When she was done, Hiroshi put the paperwork into a folder and trudged back through the tunnel to the chief’s office again, and then to Sakaguchi, who looked surprised. “You’re over here more today than the past year.”

  “I want to get Gladius in Japan.”

  “Better outside than not at all.” Sakaguchi put his hanko on the form. “You need anything else from me? This conference hasn’t even started and is already sucking time.”

  “There’ll be a funeral for Higa day after tomorrow.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Sakaguchi said. “I finished reading his book.”

  Back in his office, Hiroshi sent an email to Jim Washington at Interpol. Instead of an email, Washington phoned: “We usually go with a Yellow Notice first, but I can bump it up to Red. Frankly, it’s doubtful Gladius’ll be extradited back here, but it’ll keep him hopping.”

  “If he keeps traveling on military visas, he’ll be free to come and go, right?”

  “He could slip in and out anywhere, potentially, but Red Notices go out to almost two hundred countries. Just a matter of time before someone grabs him.”

  “Sooner the better,” Hiroshi said.

  “You’ll learn to play the long game at Interpol. If you can’t get them in person, you get them on paper.”

  “It has to be in person in this case.”

  “That’ll be even more paperwork. Your interview’s scheduled for the day after tomorrow at four.”

  “I’ll be there.” Hiroshi hung up and looked around his office. The smell of cleaning supplies seemed fainter. In its place, the room had soaked up the espresso, the perfume Akiko wore, the sharp smell of printer toner, and the aroma of bento meals. Hiroshi slumped back in his chair, too tired to open the files on banking scams, embezzlements and illegal offshore accounts that had piled up over the week. He felt content just to be in his office.

  Chapter 46

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Hiroshi yelled at Akiko from the door of his office the next morning. “You know how much we have to do.”

  Akiko smiled and held her watch up towards him. It was ten in the morning. “You should have seen the look on their faces when we marched in. I think they really didn’t get any tip-off. For once. Took them completely by surprise.”

  Hiroshi hung his coat up on the rack. It was an old coat he’d found at the back of his closet at home, one he’d forgotten about, a much warmer one. He had time to actually look through his closet after he woke up that morning, the first time in a long time he hadn’t rushed out the door or slept in
his office.

  “You needed to sleep,” Akiko said. “The raid went smoothly.” She stood up from her desk to go make the first espresso of the day, first for Hiroshi. She’d been up since six.

  For the first time in a week, Hiroshi smiled, not sure if he should be angrier or not, but grateful to have slept in, like the process of healing the injuries had begun. He wanted the Katsumuras exposed almost as badly as he wanted Gladius in prison. It didn’t really matter how it happened. They had too much to do to squabble about the lack of a wake-up call. He let it go.

  Hiroshi and Akiko worked all morning on the files from Katsumura Transport. The documents they’d confiscated showed truck routes, security and safety precautions, receipts, dockets and invoices. It wasn’t everything, but it was enough, and it led right to the gate of the American bases.

  A little before two p.m., Akiko reminded him of the time, and Hiroshi left the trail of documents on his computer and desk and hurried off to the main building. “I’ll meet you there,” Akiko called out after him.

  Hiroshi stood waiting in the main building’s meeting room—the one for outside officials—and precisely at two p.m., the door opened and in walked Colonel Bigston, the officer at the gate who denied them entry to the Yokosuka Naval Base. He looked taller and more broad shouldered in the confines of the office than he had at the gate. But it was hard to remember. Hiroshi’d been pumped full of adrenaline and covered in dust the time before.

  Bigston had many fewer medals than the Major at the airport, but his seasoned manner was far superior. Bigston stood politely, though not stiffly, behind a chair at the conference table, waiting to be invited to sit, showing respect he was on Japanese territory. The aide behind him stood awkwardly, taking his cues from Bigston, clutching a briefcase, new at this.

  Hiroshi walked over to shake hands with Bigston. “We meet again.”

  “We do, indeed,” Bigston said. “In better circumstances.” A flicker of a smile crossed Bigston’s mouth, as he bowed his head just enough to follow Japanese custom, but not too much to cease being American. They both waited patiently as Sakaguchi, Saito and the chief walked in, bowing before seating themselves quietly at the round conference table. Bigston waited until the end to sit down, followed by his aide, who took out a notepad and pen.

  After everyone was seated and introduced, Colonel Bigston spoke first. “I would like to apologize on behalf of Yokosuka Navy Base for the misunderstanding with your detectives. After reviewing the material your detective, Hiroshi Shimizu, sent us yesterday, we have a proposal.”

  The Japanese remained unresponsive, even after Hiroshi translated. Akiko came into the room, and bowing deeply, walked around the table and slid into a chair, opening a notebook to write down whatever was needed.

  Bigston made eye contact with everyone in the room. “We’re going to establish a computerized system to expedite requests and exchange information. No more triplicate forms, no more waiting time. After the initial interview, we can mutually decide how to proceed. We will not block the arrest of a suspect if evidence is compelling and can be heard immediately.”

  “Thank you. That will be an immense improvement,” Hiroshi said.

  Bigston nodded agreement. “We want soldiers to be afraid of Japanese jail time. We will have more officers in the liaison office starting next month and we’ve hired a translator.” Bigston leaned back, pleased with himself.

  The chief asked why the change was coming now after so many American suspects were not handed over to Japanese authorities in the past. Hiroshi translated this as a question, not as the accusation it clearly was in the chief’s phrasing.

  Bigston nodded. “Not a change in the rules, a change in enforcement. New people are in charge. My Japanese is good enough to order a beer, but nothing more, so that was part of it. I appreciate you translating today.”

  “I can speak for my chief here,” Hiroshi said in English, nodding at the chief. “And the chief in Yokosuka when I say your proposal is highly welcome.” Hiroshi added, “I should apologize to you for my rudeness at the gate the other day.”

  Bigston smiled. “Your command of the American idiom showed me I could trust you. That’s why I’m here.”

  Hiroshi returned his smile. “I learned a lot in America.”

  “What you sent me about this case has moved us to make this change in policy. If I can speak frankly, the US military has grown so huge, a few rogue players are inevitable. That’s no excuse. It’s explanation. We’re working on this guy, Gladius, too.”

  Hiroshi paused, letting all that sink in for everyone. Then, he said, “We’ll share the rest of the evidence on him with you when it’s certain, but until then, we do have a little more today if you could stay for the next meeting. It’s related to Trey Gladius.”

  Bigston looked at his watch.

  “It won’t take long,” Hiroshi said, looking at Akiko, who nodded.

  Settling back into the chair, Bigston said, “If you feel it’s important, we can stay. What’s this about?”

  Akiko went out to the hall and then ushered two people in to the room. The older of the two, Shimabukuro-san was in his seventies, with grey hair and mottled cheeks. He wore a black kariyushi shirt with long sleeves. Just beneath the surface bubbled sunny island energy and the depths of Okinawan culture. The younger woman, Kaneshiro-san, looked as lively as her orange flower-print shirt. Hiroshi watched her eyes take in the room at a glance.

  He introduced the two Diet members from Okinawa to Bigston and everyone exchanged meishi and shook hands and bowed before sitting down.

  Hiroshi spoke in English. “After the Fukushima disaster, American waste management companies came to assist with the transportation and storage of hazardous materials. These documents are from Katsumura Transport, who acquired nearly all the contracts, letting some Americans assist as subcontractors.” Akiko handed around photocopies of the contracts. “At the time, the central government and the nuclear industry wanted the problem of radioactive waste disposal to go away. Katsumura Transport offered to do just that.”

  The Okinawan Diet members quietly scrutinized the documents Akiko handed them one by one.

  “Bernard Mattson, who was killed in his home, stumbled on a lot of this information while doing research in the national archives. The Katsumura Company, along with several other Japanese firms, no doubt made a plea to keep the clean-up in Japanese hands, but they still had a major problem.”

  “Which was?” Bigston asked.

  “They had no place to put the radioactive debris.”

  “Couldn’t they just leave it there? Build concrete containment?” Bigston asked as if he had an idea of the answer.

  “Too expensive and too short-term. They still needed to remove waste from a vast area around the nuclear plant if full-scale reconstruction of the Fukushima area was to ever begin. So, where to put it?”

  Shimabukuro and Kaneshiro nodded as if they already knew where it went.

  Hiroshi took a breath and continued, explaining in detail all that he had learned, how the trucks were loaded, where and at what times, what routes they took and the last places the trucks with radiated debris had been seen.

  “Where did the trucks go finally?” Kaneshiro asked in flawless English.

  “That’s why we invited you here today.”

  Bigston turned to his aide to make sure he was getting all this written down.

  “You mean the American bases in Okinawa?” Kaneshiro asked.

  Hiroshi continued. “The bases are huge. Just as all military personnel are free from passport restrictions, Japan has no right to inspect anything inside the bases.”

  Bigston nodded.

  “Mattson found pieces of what was going on, even though everything was secret. Before he could publish what he found, he was killed.” Hiroshi nodded for Akiko to hand around the information from the blogger Iino and from Chief Hirano in Yokosuka. “These are independent verifications of radioactive loads going in and out of Yokosuka.”


  Bigston frowned. “So, that’s where Trey Gladius came in? I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s been in and out of every base in Asia, leaving a trail of problems. But how is the storage of radiation connected to Mattson’s death?”

  “He understood the entire scam.”

  Bigston leaned back and shook his head, his jaw tight.

  Shimabukuro tapped the documents. “So, you’re saying the American military turned a blind eye to storing radioactive debris as incentive for allowing the American bases to remain in Japan, smoothing the renewal of SOFA.”

  Hiroshi nodded. “The radioactive waste flowing into the Pacific Ocean was an open disaster they couldn’t hide. But on land, putting it inside the American military bases kept it out of sight, out of mind.”

  Bigston shuffled through the documents in front of him, checked the notes of his aide.

  Shimabukuro continued. “And Mattson figured this out before anyone else. The companies would have divided the process up into separate pieces, all disconnected from the others so no one ever saw the whole operation.”

  “Two others were killed too. Higa and another man,” Hiroshi said.

  Bigston looked furious. “And Gladius set all this up? I’m taking a transport to Okinawa right now.” Bigston nodded to his aide to call to make arrangements.

  “Aren’t you the liaison officer?” Hiroshi asked.

  “I’m doing liaison now because I’ve got a bad ticker.” He tapped his heart. “Before taking what I thought would be a less stressful job, I was in charge of base operations in Okinawa. I’ll find what’s been stored, where, when and by whom.” Bigston stood up and saluted. “Detective Hiroshi, Shimabukuro-san, Kaneshiro-san, I thank you for your time. I will see this is cleared up.”

  The Diet members stood and bowed to the two American officers as they left.

  There was not much more to say, but Shimabukuro’s eyes sparkled and his gentle face wrinkled in pleasure. “This might change the negotiations. It’s just in time. But we’ll need to hurry. How much of this is for public consumption?”

  Hiroshi shrugged. “It’s all on Iino’s blog.”